


Walks

by gothamsoul (roughknuckles)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), DCU
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Old Friends, Walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughknuckles/pseuds/gothamsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The conversations between old friends Harvey Dent and Bruce Wayne, attempting to pick up after so many dark years between them.</p><p>DCU-Batman/Nolan-verse hybrid. </p><p>[relevant story arcs:  Arkham Asylum]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Day one_.

Arkham Asylum was not above corruption. Considering eighty percent of Gothamites have connections to at least one mafia family, whether they know it or not, people could be bought. Doctors. Security. Janitors. Patients.  
  
Therefore, when special arrangements were made to escort Harvey Dent to a visitors room after dinner, security personnel did not ask why. From experience, they knew they would get their money without bothering anyone for the details.  
  
"I don’t understand …" Harvey said, to one of the guards as they cuffed his wrists together, "who am I meeting?" He was met with stone faced expressions and averted eyes, and as they shut the door on him, he could only assume the worst.   
  
He could, of course, tell them that it was his legal right to know whom he was about to meet, especially with his hands cuffed together like this, but this was Arkham. The law barely existed behind the closed gates. One only had to look at what had happened a few months back …  
  
Dent turned, and looked at the other door, the one his visitor or visitors would come through. The mob, probably. Word might have leaked that his face had been fixed and Dent knew of a string of people who couldn’t wait to mess it up again.  
  
Squaring his shoulders, he stood behind the chair he was supposed to sit in, and waited.  
  
The handle turned, and Harvey stared at the handle. He may have lulled his darker half to sleep with medication and therapy, but his hand closed around the back of the chair, ready to use it in any way he had to, when-

"Alright, Harv-" Bruce Wayne, billionaire idiot opened the door and leaned against the handle casually as if he had been waiting for Harvey to get ready for the last two hours for a society dinner they were both late to attend.  
  
"Bruce?" The blond man in the orange pajamas let go of the chair, fingers going nearly slack. "What are you doing here?" he asked, almost like an older brother shooing his younger sibling away from something dangerous.  
  
"We're going for a walk, up for it?" Bruce said easily, providing a photographic smile that was slightly less forced then his magazine covers. Eyes shifting to the side, Bruce indicated down the main hallway he had just come from that led outside, should Harvey join him.  
  
"Walk?" Harvey’s sandy eyebrows rose skeptically, and  he looked at his old friend as though the billionaire was trying to put his fingers in an electrical socket. "Bruce," Harvey sighed, shaking his head. "This is prison. They tend to keep people well ... _imprisoned_ here. We can’t go for a walk."  
  
The sad thing was, Bruce wasn't always like this, not that Harv would know what he’d been like recently, it had been years and years since he’d seen Wayne in person … at least as himself. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Arkham is not a prison. It is a medical institution." Bruce said over helpfully. "Which means it is in the interest of your health to go for a walk in the courtyard."  
  
"Yes," Harvey couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. ‘"I've read the brochures, Bruce. But there are men with guns around here who are employed just to make sure people like me don’t go for walks." _Easy now …_  
  
He took a breath, calming himself. Bruce really had been bright once upon a time. It was a shame he’d left for seven years and come back … this.  
  
"Unless you have signed permission, I can’t leave. But-" his eyes dulled and Harvey paced a little, still watching Bruce, confused. "Thanks for coming by."  
  
"I have permission." Bruce said at last, pushing a hand into one of his pockets, apparently relaxed by Harvey's insistence to uphold the law. "But if you want to sit in here, we can do that too."  
  
The baffled blond man just stared for a long, long moment. Too much here didn't make sense, and when things didn't make sense, Harvey learned to stop and think about it. Too much of having two realities played cruel tricks on the mind. He had to be careful about what he thought he saw, about what he believed.  
  
"Do you have it with you?"  
  
"Alright" Bruce reached into his jacket pocket and unfolded the three pages and set them on the table that separated them, "I submit for your approval."  
  
The paperwork was all there. And it wasn't something that just came together overnight or the course of an afternoon. The legal way had taken time. But it had been done.  
  
Harvey stepped forward, slowly, and reached out with his cuffed hands, taking the sheets with a quizzical look at Bruce before he flipped through the pages slowly, reading all the fine print. It was one-hundred percent above board, and Harvey of all people knew just how long it must have taken to bring it from an idea in Bruce’s head to the papers in Harvey’s hands. This wasn't a whim.  
  
Harvey looked up with more serious, blue eyes, handing the forms back as he examined Bruce as though meeting him for the first time.   
  
"And you’re sure you trust me alone with you out there?"

"We'll be chaperoned-" Bruce said vaguely, "But I trust you, Harv."  
  
"Well," Harvey sighed, but held Bruce’s gaze for a moment, "that makes one of us, I suppose."  It had been years and years since Harvey had entered or exited through the visitor’s door to this particular room, and he couldn't help but hesitate a little before walking closer to it and Bruce, who still looked as magazine perfect as ever … damn him.   
  
"Alright," he nodded. "Lead the way."  
  
Relief finally eased into Bruce's face as Harvey consented to join him. Though the stale environment of the asylum walls made it difficult to pretend, walking side by side as they were briefly reminded Bruce of walking to class across campus with Harvey when they had attended university together.  
  
Once they were out the front door, a path of lamp lights attached to the fence line perimeter flickered on, giving the place a visible, set boundary.  
  
"You're looking ... good." Bruce said awkwardly.  
  
Harvey’s eyes flickered over to Bruce’s face, grateful for the compliment, even if he didn't buy it for a second. "You mean I look better with the rest of my face attached." He knew he didn't look _good_.   
  
"When did that happen?" Bruce kept them walking forward, though kept his eyes on the other man as they walked the grounds as dusk continued to settle on Gotham.  
  
"Four months," Harvey couldn't help but look over his shoulder as they walked. It wasn't often he got to see Arkham getting smaller in the distance, and wanted to remember it. "Three weeks, two days ago. I’m a … fast healer, or so they tell me."   
  
Harvey’s face was nearly as it had been before the accident now, a few faded lines of healed over stitches remained along his hair line and under his jaw, but the surgery had been nothing short of a landmark case. Even his blond hair had grown back, and was even all over now, short and soft looking under the amber lights.  
  
"I didn't know." That sort of thing didn't just happen overnight, either. Especially when it came to Harvey, more than one person was required to give consent for the medical procedure to even be considered, let alone take place.  
  
"I-" Bruce seemed to falter, but then just repeated himself. "I didn't know."  
  
Harvey looked over at Bruce again, a little surprised at the emotion in his usually smooth voice. "Of course you didn't. No one knew, it was experimental." There was an odd sort of sadness in Bruce’s eyes, heavier than anything the billionaire’s handsome, mostly clueless face sported … at least these days. It had actually occurred to Harvey, before they’d wheeled him in to the OR to call Bruce. If anyone was his friend, it was and had always been Bruce Wayne, the man who never seemed to give up on Dent. Ever.   
  
But there were no phones permitted in the pre-surgical area and a moment later, Harvey was unconscious, still dreaming about calling, apologizing … something.  
  
"I didn't want to tell anyone in case it didn't work out," he explained, blue eyes searching the horizon, taking in the branches of the trees against the sky in close detail.  
  
"I'm glad it did- I mean," Bruce touched his hand to the back of Harvey's arm, leading him around a puddle of water from the last rainstorm.  
  
"You feel better for it, I hope?" Bruce prompted.  
  
Harvey swallowed at the feeling of Bruce’s hand on his arm, gentle and weirdly gallant. He smiled a little but shot him a look: _I still know how to walk around a puddle, thanks Wayne_. "I do, actually." His mock-glare faded into something more thoughtful and he took a deep breath of the fresh air. "It was …" he wasn't going to lie, it was more painful than having the skin burned off had been originally, "pretty rough, but now I feel more like myself again. I’d been doing better for a while ... but my face needed to catch up." He flashed a little, self-conscious smile at Bruce.  
  
Bruce listened to Harvey with a nod, "It's good to see you, again."  
  
"I know I already said that, but really Harvey. How is the rest of you, doing?" These were sensitive subjects, all of them. Bruce however addressed each in turn without the weight of past violence or pain that existed for them, it was a history he either seemed to forget or didn't acknowledge.  
  
The gentle precision with which Bruce was asking wasn't lost on Harvey, nor was it unappreciated, but it was a puzzling skill to pair with the hapless, insensitive, womanizing billionaire he’d come to … well.  
  
There was some past pain there too. Just as graciously, Harvey chose not to acknowledge that particular hurt.  
  
He looked down, and then up at the trees again. "The rest of me? The rest of me-" he said, with heavy emphasis on the euphemism, "is calm right now ..." They took a few more steps together and Harvey sighed, turning and doing what he did best, getting it all out on the table.  
  
"Why did you come?"  
  
Silence wasn't an answer, but that's what Bruce provided.

"You don't want to see me?" Even though they were alone; far from the asylum walls or any guard on outside patrol who could potentially overhear any revealing statements, Bruce was still careful with what he revealed of himself.   
  
"Don’t be ridiculous," Harvey sighed, irritation creeping into his voice even as he had to admire the sight of a stream running past in the distance. They really were getting far out into the yard, it was more freedom than Harvey had enjoyed for years. "Of course I want to see you, but … why now?"   
  
He fixed Bruce with the sort of stare that used to make him _talk_.  
  
"I haven't been around." Sometimes business took the billionaire out of Gotham, but that's not what he meant. "For you- as your friend. I haven't-" The list of what he wasn't or failed to do or be, was long.  
  
"Damn it, Harv." Bruce stopped and faced the other man. "I'm not good at this."  
  
"I haven't been there for you. And I should- I want to be."  
  
Harvey stopped too, and for a moment, all the could do was breathe and stare at the sleekly handsome face in front of him. The wind picked up, blowing around both men in a gust, into the space between them. "We’re not in college anymore," Harvey said, the words coming out quieter than he would have liked.  
  
"No, we're not." Bruce agreed.  
  
"But if we're still friends" he said, daring Harvey to correct him, "and you're committed to getting out of here, then I want to help."  
  
"You still want to be friends?" Harvey asked, looking Bruce over as though assessing _his_ sanity. "After everything I've done? You read papers, despite what you let the tabloids think, Bruce. You know damn well what I've done."  
  
"I know I wasn't around to talk to." Even if this was a bit more then a late night ethics debate in the library, "And I can't help but wonder how things might have been different if I had made myself available to you."  
  
Bruce turned his head and smiled a little as he continued their walk, "But I know we're friends. I have proof."  
  
Harvey rolled his eyes and laughed derisively at Bruce, "Proof?" They walked a few more steps together and Dent shook his head. This was a little more like the Bruce he’d known in college, infuriating, teasing, but bright instead of vacant. "This I have to see. What sort of proof do you have?"  
  
"I know-" Bruce touched his hand to Harvey's back as they walked in the growing darkness of the asylum grounds "that despite it being advantageous and you having had ample opportunity, you never once kidnapped me, held me for ransom, or hurt me." Bruce said as if Harvey's career as a violent criminal had been nothing more then a summer job at a burger joint. "Plus, you consented to our walk."  
  
It was as though Bruce had planned the touch and the words like some sort of one-two-three combat move to disarm the sarcastic, defensive lawyer. Batman couldn't have taken a gun away more smoothly. For a few seconds, only the crunch of their footsteps could be heard at the far end of the Arkham grounds, and Bruce’s warm, large hand was still on Harvey’s back.  
  
"Of course I didn't. You would have made a terrible hostage." Harvey mumbled under his breath, scrambling for a real reason, at least a reason he could give Bruce.  
  
"Really, why is that? I can assure you, I'm worth a penny or two." But from experience Bruce had learned that neither Harvey nor Two-Face ever set out to hurt him, to the point of ignoring him in a room full of other hostages.  
  
"Bruce …" Harvey took a deep breath and held it in, almost until his lungs burned. He wasn't supposed to talk about that time, about _him_. Harvey shook his head, watching the ground pass under their shoes: Bruce’s expensive Italian dress shoes and Harvey’s slip on, prison issue shoes with nothing on them he could use to kill a man with. Of course, any weapon was useless without the coin that stayed in his room. He hadn't used it in 15 days. It was a new record.  
  
"You would have started asking me to bring you coffee the way _I_ make it because it’s better that way, or you would have told embarrassing roommate stories in front of the henchmen …" He shot Bruce a half-amused look. "You never took me seriously as a criminal. It would have been a disaster."  
  
Bruce gave a slight shrug. "You're right, I like the way you make it." Poking the right buttons seemed to bring more of the Harvey he knew, out into the open. It had been a joy in college, pissing off his room-mate until he ended a conversation with an exasperated, but affectionate _'Wayne!'_  
  
"I don’t make it any differently than you do, for the last time!" There was that exasperated tone in Harvey’s voice, the one that meant there was a little bit of an outraged gleam in his eyes, and color in his face. "I mean …" he caught himself, looking down again. "I didn't make it differently. Same exact damn coffee, same cheap hot chocolate mix."   
  
Unbothered by Harvey raising his voice, Bruce just looked pleased, maybe even a little smug. "Not too cold?" Bruce asked, changing the topic.  
  
"What? No …" Harvey rolled his eyes, fuming a little. Just like Bruce to do that, get him going and then step out of the way with a change of subject. "No, I’m fine." He’d always done that, and then just looked amused at how riled up he managed to get his room mate over a book, or a newspaper. Back then, Bruce had read everything he could get his hands on, and quickly too, quickly enough to impress the lawyer-to-be who could memorize entire books of cases in an evening.  
  
"... Jerk."  
  
"I know. I don't know why you put up with me."  
  
Harvey glared, his lips pressing together in a thin, irritated line. "What do you mean put up with you?" He quipped back with a wry smirk, brandishing his cuffed wrists, "Captive audience, Wayne, remember?" He lowered his hands and looked away, but the smirk softened into a smile. "And you are a jerk. You swing by, bust me out for a walk like I’m a dog at the pound, and what am I going to do tomorrow while you lunch with supermodels and rock stars?"  
  
"You didn't have to consent to this." Bruce reminded him.  
  
"As for tomorrow, you'll go to therapy, read a book, or write a letter ... you'll play nice." Bruce suggested, as if it were as simple as that. "If you want me to visit again."  
  
Dent’s eyes narrowed and he stopped walking, the amusement dropping from his mood abruptly. "That’s what this is?"  
  
"Do you want me to visit?" Bruce reworded the situation. "Why, what do you think this is."  
  
"Carrot and stick. You’re playing the part of the carrot. Rather well, too." He stepped away from Bruce a little as they walked. "Did they put you up to this?"  
  
"No one put me up to this." Bruce knew this wasn't the time to joke or tease, Harvey needed a real answer from him for them to move forward. "I'm here because I want to see you. It's been too long."  
  
"So, you’re saying-" Harvey changed to his courtroom tone, "that you didn't receive a call from my doctors politely alerting you to how much a visit from ‘an old friend’ might keep me motivated? Especially if he’ll only come back if I behave?" His pulse was starting to throb above the collar of the orange standard-issue shirt.  
  
"Harvey." Bruce frowned a little, "Very few people know we have a history, for one. No one called me. I don't know anything about what happens to you here. I wasn't told about the surgery, remember? I don't know what they think- but in my mind, reconnecting is in both our interests."  
  
A little darkness flickered behind Dent’s blue eyes, and it looked at Bruce, at his smooth, handsome, never burned features skeptically. "Is it?" He asked, in a lower, smokier voice than Harv’s usual tone. "So what do you get out of it, Bruce? A tax write off for charity work?"  
  
"No." Bruce answered calmly, knowing he was dealing with more than the memory of his college friend. "I get to make up for being an idiot for all these years. I get my friend back, and I get to help him- like I should have been doing all along."  
  
Dent sighed through his nose, sharply before he stopped walking again right in front of Bruce, staring into this face unflinchingly. "So what changed your mind? What took you from letting me walk away without a fight to pulling every favor you have with the board just to get me some fresh air?"  
  
"Does it matter?" Bruce placed a hand on Harvey's shoulder, "... I've been a coward. Only willing to commit myself as far as the check book. But that hasn't helped."  
  
"I still miss you."  
  
And there was the sucker-punch. Bruce admitting he had feelings one way or the other about a sandwich or a book was a red-letter day. Bruce Wayne standing in front of him, outside of a prison anyone in their right mind would never visit saying he still _missed him_ was rare, and seeing that Bruce _meant_ it … was nearly impossible. Nearly.  
  
"Sometimes …" Harvey said too quietly, too much of a shake in his voice, "I miss me too."  
  
Bruce slid his hand further up Harvey's shoulder to the side of his neck. "Do you want me apart of this, or not?" It had to be Harvey's choice. He was the one making the progress, he was the one doing the hard work.  
  
Harvey’s breath caught and his eyelids half-closed at the feeling of Bruce’s palm against the side of his neck, warm, and stronger than it looked, stronger than it had been when they were in school, certainly. A shiver ran up his spine, but he didn't take his gaze off of Bruce.   
  
This was a cruel thing to do to a man in prison, even if Harvey wasn't quite sure what the down side was yet … there was always something. Always a bad side. But the question stood, deceptively simple: yes or no?   
  
His hand itched for the coin, but Harvey pushed past it … as he had before for another broad shouldered man with big hands.  
  
"Yes …" he said, quietly, speaking over a dry throat. "Jesus," he sighed, "of course I do."  
  
"Good." Bruce held his ground a moment longer, brushing the tips of his fingers against the short blond hair Harvey was growing in at the base of his skull.  
  
Harvey let out a deep, slow sigh, unable to stop himself from leaning his head into the touch. God, that was unfair of him. Bruce knew exactly what that did to him. A thousand memories of Bruce stroking his hair when he wanted something proved that much.  
  
"You could have anyone," he murmured, "and you decide to come charm a guy in prison? Smart."  
  
"I've always been smart."  
  
"And I know what I want." Bruce said simply, even if he had been too preoccupied or afraid to follow through before now. Finally his hand fell away to the back of Harvey's arm to begin to walk with him again.  
  
Just like that, they were walking again. Bruce was … confusing. There one moment, and side-stepping the next, like a shadow disappearing as soon as a light turned on. It reminded him of … of someone … but even that memory evaded him.  
  
 _Focus, Harv. He’s right there._  
  
"So …" he centered himself again, walking a little closer to Bruce than before. He knew he was flushed because the air felt cold against his face, suddenly. "So … we’re being chaperoned?"  
  
"Yes. For my safety or something." Bruce smiled a little. There was of course not a single guard in sight.  
  
"Cameras?" the blond asked, looking around them both. Somehow, he thought Bruce meant more than that, especially for a walk with him in the dark, still on Arkham property or no.  
  
"No." Bruce however seemed reluctant to provide further information. The wind picked up again, blowing against their backs, steadily pushing the two of them forward.   
  
"No?" Harvey sighed again, realizing that with very few exceptions most of his time around Bruce was always spent at least partly frustrated with the man’s brick-wall approach to talking. He preferred to let the over zealous law student fill in the blanks. Many times, Harvey thought that Bruce preferred him only because Harvey was so good at getting the puzzle of Bruce Wayne right. "So you’re just being willfully obtuse ..."  
  
"I'm thinking, if I tell you our chaperone is Batman, you'll be pissed off."

Harvey stopped walking, and just stared at Bruce, sternly. "That isn't funny."  
  
"This isn't exactly normal visiting hours, Harvey. But he agreed to it." Bruce shrugged his large shoulders, pushing his hands into his pockets.  
  
"Are you mad?"  
  
"Since when is he doing favors for you?" A rush of tangled, opposite emotions surged through Harvey, like heavy trucks barreling across a delicate bridge, shaking it a little. _Him. Here_.  
  
"He's not- he doesn't do that sort of thing. But you know how invested he is in ... well, everything. I'm considered too high profile, too high risk; this was the only way."  
  
"Harvey. _Are_ you mad?" He asked again.  
  
 _Yes. No. We don’t know. I don’t know._  
  
"How do you know him? As far as I know, he doesn't do galas." Harvey didn't look at Bruce, although he didn't pull away either, just kept walking with an odd, hollow feeling inside, like he was missing something important.   
  
"We don't socialize, if that's what you mean. But he owes me this." Bruce said firmly.  
  
"Don't let it ruin our time, tonight."  
  
"But he’s watching us right now, is what you’re telling me."  Memories of his old enemy, his old co-worker and friend came rushing back: the bat lurking in the shadows, watching Harvey with unreadable eyes as they and Jim talked a case on the roof top, wind blowing hard enough to catch the red silk of Harvey’s tie; a large, gloved hand catching a coin and the shadow of the bat getting smaller as Harvey fell and fell and fell …  
  
And of course, the uprising in the Asylum … the coin.  
  
"Yes. He is watching us." Bruce said simply, eyes on Harvey, reading his reaction during all of this. "It can't be helped."  
  
The night kept switching back and forth on him, good and bad, comfortable and jarring, bitter and sweet. For a moment, the blond just looked exhausted by it all, worn thin, and shrugged non-committally.   
  
"But you've been working together," Harvey said with dull eyes, a flat tone to his voice. "How long?"  
  
"Do I look like someone who works with Batman?" Bruce however was worried for Harvey, it was beginning to look like too much for one evening.  
  
"It's complicated, Harvey. And I'm not sure I should talk about it."  
  
"That’s not a no, Bruce." If he would have put his hands on his hips just then, he would have. "Besides," his voice took on a darker, regretful tone. "I don’t look like someone who would work with him either, do I? But I did. Can’t judge that way."  
  
Looking away, searching the the long shadows, Bruce appeared to be looking for their chaperone. "I'm going to assume if he doesn't want me to talk about it, he'll let me know." He said pointedly before turning back to Harvey.  
  
"Alright, Harv- You want to know what my connection is to Batman? And why he's doing this for me?"  
  
"You’re the money," Harvey said, bluntly, everything clicking into place in his head, "aren't you?" He held Bruce’s gaze, daring him to deny it, Dent’s chin rising a little, looking every inch the determined White Knight.  
  
"Yes. I am." Bruce admitted, a pleased brightness in his eyes at Harvey's ability to flush out the secret once he set his mind to it. "I have been for a long time."  
  
Harvey stepped back, more just a shifting of his weight than anything. No sleek, flying black blades sailed past Bruce’s nose, so the ‘Dark Knight’ must not have minded the revelation.  He just looked at Bruce for a moment, his face giving away very little before he spoke.   
  
"Hard to imagine that first meeting. Please tell me you didn't tell him his suit looked dated and boxy." Boxy was hardly the word …  
  
"No. But his first vehicle was hardly what I would call safe- or practical." Though something other then form or function was weighing on his mind.  
  
"It's still a great secret." One that Harvey had once been apart of; and one that Bruce was re-extending an exclusive invitation to. While Batman's continued silence on the matter could only be viewed as consent. The message however was clear, Bruce trusted Harvey not to use such things against him and by extension, Batman seemed to trust Harvey as well.  
  
"A great secret you tell to imprisoned exes," Harvey quipped with a roll of his eyes, hiding what he was really thinking wondering until he looked up at Bruce, his expression as casual as his voice was not. "So how often do you two meet?"  
  
Batman and Bruce in the same room. Alone. Two of the most magnetic people Harvey had ever encountered had to have some sort of pull towards each other, and surely the Bat could see past Bruce’s layers of spoiled idiocy to what was really underneath … exactly what Harvey had seen all those years ago, too.  
  
"A secret, I should have shared with you from the beginning." Bruce said. Even with all his training to overcome fears, he had acted a coward when it came to him and Harvey.  
  
"But we rarely speak. I'm just the bank account. The less I know, the better."  
  
"So you just write him a big, blank check every month? You have to meet sometime, Bruce. All that equipment can’t be cheap, even if it is your company making it." It struck him just then than Bruce probably financed the light on top of MCU as well, which made his chest squeeze for all sorts of reasons.  
  
"He lets me know what he needs and I make it happen." Bruce scratched behind his ear, "What is it that bothers you the most here, Harv. That someone like Batman is dependent upon my funds and technology, or that it's me doing the funding?"  
  
"That you didn't come to me with this before!" Harvey almost snapped, and turned away, as though trying to shelter Bruce from the sharpness of his voice. He clamped down on what almost came out next, just pacing instead. The cuffs around his wrists felt tighter now, more restrictive, and started to make him a little cagey.  
  
"I already told you, I regretted not telling you. I still do. Don't you- it's crossed my mind more then once to think: What if I had told Harvey? Maybe things would have turned out differently. I could have been there for him- for you, when you needed someone. And I wasn't." If he had been too guarded before, it was clear now that Bruce carried a great deal of guilt when it came to Harvey Dent.  
  
Harvey tried to swallow the bitter laugh in his throat but only half-succeeded. "When I really _needed_ someone was exactly when no one should have been allowed within fifty feet of me, Bruce. I wasn't just upset, I was armed, and killing because of the way a coin fell into my hand. If you tried to ‘be there for me’ back then, I would have pushed you away, and with good reason!"  
  
"You wouldn't have hurt me. Any more than you are now. If I had been smart, I would have let you push, and pushed you right back until we were on the same page again."  
  
Harvey stopped short and looked at Bruce, surprised at what the dark haired man had implied. "I’m hurting you now?" His voice was quieter, even a little concerned now.  
  
Closing his eyes, Bruce could still hear the far-off screaming laughter or crying wails of other asylum patients. "I don't like seeing you here."  
  
The last time he’d seen pain on Bruce’s face had been years ago, before Arkham, before the burning, even before the election, the day Harvey had drawn a line, unwilling to share Bruce with any more dates, no matter how fake Bruce insisted they were. They looked and felt real enough when Harvey had to see them on the news and splashed all over the tabloids.   
  
It felt so far away now, and he was still hurting the unflappable Bruce Wayne somehow.   
  
"There’s not a lot I can do about that now."  
  
"There is always something." Bruce paused, "I didn't think we would discuss this on the first night- but I need you to critically examine your position here." He was serious, giving Harvey the same look he did when he used to test Harvey before each exam.  
  
"Is Arkham helping? Or would you do better if you were transferred somewhere else?"  
  
"Wait … _first_ night?" Harvey straightened, looking Bruce over as though he hadn’t really seen him before. He fought to keep the hope out of his voice. " _First_ night?"  
  
Crossing his arms, Bruce shifted his weight. "Yes." He swallowed, "As long as you consent to receive me, I intend to visit regularly from now on."  
  
Bruce had _said_ that he wanted to ‘be there’, which was just something people said. It meant a couple of cards in the mail before they forgot and drifted off to be there for someone better. In Bruce’s case, Harvey thought it might mean a phone call or two and he’d be forgotten like last season’s sports car.  
  
"You’re serious about this, aren't you?" Harvey almost mumbled with shock, his lips a little numb.  
  
"Yes. Are you." Bruce dared Harvey to once more see through his public image to the truth of him; loyal, relentless, dedicated.   
  
Harvey took another step forward, and then another until they were close enough to whisper. "You really think I’m going to get _better_ , don’t you?" The idea of getting better wasn't something Harvey had any real faith in anymore. He’d been dragged under and under by his darker self so many times that getting ‘better’ permanently was an arbitrary goal he gave himself more to pass the time and separate him from the other inmates as much as he could than anything.  
  
Though 'getting better' was subjective and needed to be redefined for Harvey, both Bruce and Batman would see the light at the end (until Harvey could see it for himself). "Yes." Bruce unfolded his arms, touching Harvey against his forearm, just above his cuffed wrist.  
  
Just as he had when Bruce touched his neck, and his hair, Harvey moved involuntarily, into the touch like a plant kept in the dark would lean into sunlight. There was no shortage of touching in Arkham, only Harvey’s reputation spared him from any of _that_ , everyone knew that if they even dreamed about Two-Face that way, they’d better wake up and apologize ... but it also meant years and years of guarded physical solitude.  "I’ll never be what I was," Harvey admitted sadly, not wanting to get Bruce’s hopes up.  
  
"You never really were, the first time." Bruce pointed out. But he wasn't pursuing the memory of Harvey, or just the one-side of him. "Now I know all of you, at your best and at your worst- you've got nothing left to hide from me." There was nothing to reject, Bruce knew both sides.  
  
"Bruce …" Harvey looked down, holding in a breath. "That’s … sweet but-" He looked back up at his friend’s face, voice shaking a little as he bit back a knot in his throat.   "But …" his usually confident voice died in his throat.  He wanted to say Bruce wouldn't be able to handle it, that Harvey could barely handle it most days, not to mention the supposed professionals he’d argued down and cycled through until they all gave up on him sooner or later.  
  
"But nothing. I'm a stubborn idiot, remember."


	2. Chapter 2

_Five Weeks Later_.

As promised, Bruce came to visit Harvey in Arkham Asylum. Not every day, but usually around three times a week. Though the Dark Knight was not always available to chaperone evening walks around outside, so afternoon visits within the asylum walls had to be satisfactory from time to time.  
  
One such day, Bruce Wayne had come to visit Harvey just after breakfast before heading out of town for the weekend on business. It was therefore surprising that later that same day, close to lights-out, Harvey had a second guest visit him.  
  
With a glass wall three inches thick separating them, Batman stood outside of Harvey's cell as Arkham's nightlife either slipped into drug-induced sleeps or terrified crying in the dark.  
  
Harvey wasn't asleep. He had a new book, and not even the medication could keep his attention away from it. New books didn't come along often enough in Arkham, and it was nice to read something he didn't already know the ending to.   
  
The blond was sitting in what passed for a bed, a narrow, hard shelf with a blanket and a pillow when a movement outside the glass made his hand freeze half-way through turning a page. He could feel who it was before he looked up, an electric buzz in the air made the hair on the back of Harvey’s neck stand up, just as it did every time he met the bat.  
  
He swallowed, and put his book aside, standing up slowly.  
  
"Long time ..."

"New reading material?" Batman observed, tilting his chin up slightly as he evaluated the barrier between them.  
  
"Just arrived," Harvey answered. The limited light caught Batman’s jaw and Harv forced himself not to look for longer than a second or two. "There was no note, but I get the feeling it was from a mutual friend of ours."  
  
Batman made no acknowledgement of this, not even in the form of a gruff sound. "What happened that night." He asked. Though Harvey and Two-Face had many 'that nights' with Batman, he was referring to the most recent event to take place at the asylum that had involved him.  
  
Another couple of steps closer, and he was sure that Batman was sizing up the partition not to make sure Harvey couldn't get out, but to see if he could get in. Of course, that could just be the anti-depressants talking. Another step closer and Harvey couldn't pretend he didn't know what night Batman was talking about. "About that," he nodded. "Well, you won the toss, fair and square."   
  
Any thoughts of a break-in were pushed aside as Batman turned his head forward, eyes locking sharply with Harvey. "Don't lie. I lost the toss. You let me go."  
  
It was Harvey’s turn to raise his head, in a nearly identical mannerism as he kept Batman’s unsettling gaze, suppressing a chill that threatened to run down his back that had nothing to do with being cold.  He sighed and walked all the way up to the thick glass, keeping his voice down. "Cameras everywhere. I almost forgot."  
  
While pleased with the results, Batman still wanted to know. "Why did you do that."  
  
"How did you manage it."  
  
Harvey’s guilty face reflected back to him in the window and he looked away, pacing. Faced with two questions, the lawyer answered the least incriminating one first. "Now and then, in some circumstances, I … I've managed to veto _him_." Of course, Harvey had paid for it later, dearly.  
  
"Then there's no need for the coin. If you make each decision, as internal affairs." This was something Batman apparently supported. "You made a decision, both of you. Without the coin."  
  
"Why for _me_." The question had not been dropped.  
  
Harvey took a deep breath, looking down at his hands before back up at Batman’s dark outline. "Because," he said, simply. "I owed you. It was _fair_ that I let you go."  
  
"I am unfamiliar with the debt. What lead you to believe I deserved the reprieve?" Batman moved closer to the glass, catching sight of other inmates further down the hall with their faces pressed against their own glass walls to get a better sight of Batman.  
  
It was stupid, and Harvey knew it, but as he stood there months ago, after the riot, the Bat’s life hanging on the words to come out of his mouth as he stared at the coin in his hand … all he could think of was how disappointed Bruce would be in him if he let Batman die. Bruce hadn't even seemed supportive of Batman back then, but Harvey wondered if somewhere his mind made the link at the crucial moment and gave him the strength to lie.  
  
He couldn't say that, though.  
  
"You never hit _me_ ," Harvey said, whispering so that no one else could hear.   
  
Batman seemed to regard Harvey quietly. There had been violence between them of course, but Batman understood what Harvey meant. He only ever hit him on his 'bad' side and not the 'good'. However Batman sensed there was more to it. If not striking at Harvey's good side had earned him a pardon in this case, why not in others? And would it happen again?  
  
But he did not push the issue further. Instead, he changed the subject. "He is determined-" Batman did not refer to _him_ as Bruce or Wayne, should unwelcome ears be listening in. "To see you out of here by the end of the year."  
  
"Do you believe that's possible?"  
  
"I have a parole hearing in the fall," Harvey admitted, almost reluctantly. "But it’s only a formality. With my record, I don’t think any amount of clinical improvement would convince the board that I’m suitable for release." Then again, he almost heard Bruce remind him, _they said you’d never be DA, either. You were too young, too bright and too idealistic. You proved them wrong._  
  
"Why is he so …" A dark, manic chuckle down the hall stole Harvey’s attention for moment, making him remember the smell of gasoline and hot fuses. He refocused on Batman, "obsessed with the idea of getting me out of here all of a sudden?"  
  
"That's his business." Batman said, even though the Detective could easily speculate and was clearly privy to a great deal of personal information regarding the two of them.  
  
"Though, I see the value in it as well." In having Harvey overcome his struggles to rejoin them on the outside, a partner to Bruce in one way, and to Batman in another.  
  
"One less menace on the streets. Of course." As always, even though he couldn't see Batman’s eyes behind the lenses, Harvey still looked there when he spoke to the hulking, dark man. Only his lips and jaw attested to the fact that he was, after all, a man under that outfit, the skin there was slightly rough with stubble, but Harvey had given up trying to deduce the Bat’s real hair color from it. All he could tell after all this time was that he wasn't blond.   
  
"We were partners, once. I see the use of being so again." Under the formality however, Batman had good memories of their partnership. Sentimentality was potentially dangerous, so the offer would not remain open indefinitely. "If it appeals to you."  
  
"Did you and Bruce sit down and talk about this?" Harvey asked, quietly, using his wit to cover how surprised and touched he was that the man he felt he let down the hardest of anyone would want him back after all he’d done in his sickness. It was almost identical to Bruce’s offer, _pull through, Harvey and we can be together again._  
  
Of course it was nothing like that. But, there had been a time or two when Harvey could have sworn that the way the vigilante regarded Gordon, or anyone else on his side wasn't quite how he treated Harvey, especially when they were alone. The wide-shouldered terror of Gotham’s criminal element was sometimes nearly gentle with the then DA, almost fond.  
  
Like now, no matter how formal his words.  
  
"Alright," Harvey stood right against the glass, his right fingertips ghosting over it absent-minded. "Alright. If I get out of here."  
  
"No- No." Batman pressed a gloved finger to his cowl over where his ear would be, trying to listen to his earpiece over the noise of Arkham. Turning his wrist, he checked his watch. "Ten minutes."  
  
Rolling his shoulders back Batman turned his attention back to Harvey, " _When_ you get out of here."  
  
"In the meantime, we'll be in contact."  
  
"Hey BATS, why DON'T you EVER visit me?!" The Joker called out from down the hall, "Wooo ME, Big Guy!"  
  
Harvey shuddered and scowled in the direction of the clown’s cell, hatred crossing his face at the sound of that god-damned voice. He could remember a time when he and Batman had worked together to try and bring the maniac down. Not a day went by that Harvey didn't berate himself for ending up in the same place.  
  
" _When_ I get out," Harvey sighed, tense, " _when_." It took everything he had not to yell back at the voice from down the hall with his own unhinged personality, which was enough to actually make the demented clown cower sometimes.  
  
Pressed for time, a moment later Batman was out of sight and gone from Arkham.  
  
"Hey- HARVEYS, are you flirting with my BATS? You don't want to MAKE ME jealous!"  
  
" _Shut up_ …" Harvey allowed himself a dark whisper, but turned back, pacing in his cell with a satisfied smirk.

 

*                    *                    *

 

_Three Days Later_.

The next time Bruce visited, Harvey was ready and waiting in the interview room. He looked like he’d just showered and shaved, and while he still wore the orange Arkham pants, he wore a clean, white t-shirt over top instead of the orange tunic.  
  
They buzzed Bruce in and Harvey looked up at the sound, smiling a little.  
  
Not taking for granted that Harvey would always be in a state of mind which wanted to see him, Bruce smiled at his friend as he entered into the room. "Harvey."  
  
"Bruce." Clearly in a better mood than he’d been in for a long time, Harvey looked Bruce over with a charming grin, appreciating the suit he wore. "Fresh from the office?"  
  
Always looking like he had just stepped away from a magazine photo shoot, Bruce confirmed. "Yes."  
  
"How are you doing today?"  
  
"I slept well," he explained, beaming a little. He looked like his old self, as though the White Knight was back, and just chatting with an old friend over coffee during a short break from work, not at all like the sort of man who belonged locked up anywhere, let alone Arkham. "How’s the weather?"  
  
"Windy- but improving. Ready to go?" Within Arkham walls he was required to keep his distance, but once outside, the rules were different.  
  
"I woke up ready to go," Harvey smirked a little as he teased, and stood. His hands were cuffed, of course, but he seemed to accept it as a necessary condition for the outing and strode over to Bruce’s side, regretting only that he couldn't hold the door for him. They used to have a running tally of who held more doors for whom, and right now, Bruce was in the lead again, 37 to 0.  
  
The blond’s stride was only slightly uneven today, but his face showed no pain.  
  
As they walled down the hall and outside, Bruce noted what could have been a slight limp. "Need new shoes?" Once they were clear of the main building, Bruce touched his hand to the center of Harvey's back, keeping pace with the other man.  
  
"No," Harvey smiled reassuringly as his gold hair blew into his eyes as he relaxed back into Bruce’s touch, starting to get used to it again. "Missed a step going down stairs this morning, banged my leg up. I’ll live." He winked.  
  
Leaning closer, Bruce brushed his lips against Harvey's temple, offering a quick and impulsive kiss. "The doctors here took a look, didn't they."  
  
"They looked. I’m fine, just a little sore." The kiss was unexpected, but welcome, so much like the way they used to be when they were alone and unwatched, that Harvey smiled, beaming a little, and stayed close. He didn't usually like to be fussed over, but Bruce had always been the exception to most of his rules.  
  
"If it gets to be too much, we'll head back." Bruce said, keeping an eye on Harvey and his smile. Even though their walk had just begun, Bruce did not wish to push Harvey into straining an injury.  
  
"I’ll live." The truth was much darker than just slipping down a few stairs. The Joker had been escorted from one of his ‘therapy sessions’ with the new doctor, and somehow all but magically escaped the shackles he was in, and four guards, to grab at Dent and shoved him down a flight of stairs.   _EVERYBODY FALLS, HARV!!!!_   
  
Luckily, the guards shot him with two tranquilizer darts, and the green haired man fell to the floor, drooling and muttering about night time visits from Batman.  
  
"If you need another opinion, I _might_ know someone with some experience in medicine." Bruce offered with a grin, careful not to say 'second opinion', because he wanted to avoid the trigger use of anything in two's.  
  
After a few minutes out, Bruce walked the two off them off the normal path walkway. The patches of grass underfoot were thick and mostly green this time of year, a soft and welcome relief to cement walls, cement floors and cement beds.  
  
The softness of the ground they walked across now was a relief to his sore leg, and the change showed on his face even if he didn't say anything. After a moment or two, he looked sideways at Bruce, walking a little closer.  
  
"I had another visitor."  
  
Bruce frowned a little, "When?"  
  
"Who-" He was going to warn Harvey against accepting visitors, any 'friends' or associates from the old crowd, but then he realized that he probably meant Batman.  
  
Harvey raised both eyebrows at Bruce, unsure if this was just a protective streak or if the billionaire was actually jealous. "No, nothing bad," he reassured the dark haired man quietly, and then smiled teasingly. "An old co-worker of mine, well … of ours, I guess."  
  
"What did he want?" He asked, head bowed slightly forward to listen to Harvey.  
  
"To … offer me my old job back, so to speak." He might have turned a little pinker, regaining some of the glow he usually had back in the days when the golden boy was DA.  
  
Bruce nodded slightly, "Is that something you're still interested in?"  
  
"Of course," Harvey replied, light and hope in his solidly blue eyes. "Working like that, with him was the best thing I've ever done, for the city … and for myself. I just never imagined he’d ever want me back."  
  
"You were working very hard long before he ever came along, but I understand- the change was more visible then." Seeing the sharp brightness back in Harvey's eyes was worth it.  
  
"I guess I'll know who you are with, when you're working late nights."  
  
Harvey looked over at Bruce in surprise, but was still smiling, even a little pink across his high cheekbones. "What are you suggesting, Mr. Wayne?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing." Bruce shrugged his shoulders. "But if you come back smelling like sweat and leather, you better have a good reason. That's all."  
  
Harvey gaped a little as they walked, and laughed, incredulous. "I seriously doubt he has any interest in making me smell like sweat and leather, but it’s flattering that you’d think so, Wayne."  
  
Bruce just grumbled and resisted rolling his eyes by looking up at the fast paced clouds moving overhead. "But he came just to visit you? Not to stop a riot or something?"  
  
Harvey’s mouth opened and closed, and he considered Bruce’s words for a moment. "There was no riot," he said, in a lawyerly tone. "And you can’t possibly be jealous of him. "  
  
"I'm not." Bruce was quick to defend, "I'm sure his high morale fiber for breakfast doesn't allow him to bend in that way." Which came out a lot more bitter then Bruce had intended.  
  
"I just want to understand what the expectations are." He said simply, rubbing the back of his stiff neck.  
  
Harvey reached his cuffed hands over and bunched his fingers in Bruce’s expensive shirt, pulling him behind a nearby oak tree for shelter from any curious eyes in the distance. "Would you stop acting like a spoiled, jealous brat, _Wayne_?"    
  
The blond leaned in and kissed him.  
  
Provoking Harvey to call him _Wayne_ in such an infuriated manner made Bruce grin. Hooking an arm around Harvey's waist, the two kissed for the first time in years; he was not about to let the moment get away.  
  
It was just a brush of their lips at first, meant to be quick and teasing, but then Bruce’s arm locked around Harvey with surprising strength and Dent’s fingers closed in the front of Bruce’s shirt as their mouths met and then fit together, perfectly.  Some things never changed.

 

*                    *                    *

 

_Five Months Later._

Over the months of making positive progress, Harvey had earned some privileges. A few personal items, non institutionalized clothing, handcuff free walks, and today, a fourteen hour day pass outside Arkham boundaries.  
  
But as terrible as Arkham could be some days, it was still a private place, set away from public eyes.  
  
When people stared, or when people looked up from their coffee and magazines and Bruce _perceived_ them to be staring, cold arctic blue eyes glared right back; intense enough to make even the most hardened junk yard dog pee in place, tuck it’s tail and run.  
  
"Maybe we should go somewhere less … obvious," Harvey said, acutely aware of every dirty look he was receiving, and how much he deserved it. "You don’t need to ruin your reputation like this."  
  
"You've not seen the state of my reputation, have you?" Bruce said absently.  
  
"No- we're not doing this in back alleys or behind closed doors, we're doing this in the open." He said, reminding himself of the right course of action to take.  
  
"Did you want to go to a cafe? Or restaurant?"  
  
"Coffee shop," Harvey said, pointedly. A cafe sounded too pretentious, and given the choice between coffee and a long, drawn out meal, Harvey would always go for the coffee, every time. "Nowhere fancy." He managed a little grin over the collar of his beige trench coat, blond hair skimming his eyes.  
  
Several city blocks later, Bruce and Harvey stepped into a coffee shop specializing in organic and fair trade drinks and food. It wasn't the sort of thing Bruce usually went for, but in Gotham's art district, they would be hard pressed to find an alternative.  
  
At least it wasn't anywhere with French menus. Harvey counted himself lucky and held the door for Bruce with a smirk, starting to catch up according to the tally in his head, and then they found a table near the window which was nice enough, but still a little too visible for Harvey’s taste right now. Nevertheless, he accepted the spot and leaned back in his seat, watching Bruce. "Three guesses as to what I’m ordering."  
  
"No-" Bruce groaned, "You can get coffee anywhere. Get cheesecake, get a latte- anything, but black coffee." He implored as a girl with dreadlocks came to their table to wipe it off with a rag, holding her breath and smiling at Bruce and Harvey.   
  
"I can get _bad_ coffee anywhere. I don’t even like milk in my coffee, why would I get a latte … that’s what a latte _is_ , right?" He asked, mostly just to needle Bruce as though they were an old married couple.  
  
"Fine. Get what you want." Bruce said quietly, keeping an eye on the staff member in the back of the building who kept peeking around the doorway, covering their hand over their mouth as they spoke into an older, wall-mounted phone.  
  
"I always do, don’t I?" Harvey asked, watching the same waitress that Bruce was watching with growing anxiety. He didn't need to drag Bruce into his mess. "Look, maybe we should just go. We can go somewhere more private-" Harvey kept his voice low, but sincere as he looked at his old friend, imploringly.  
  
Suddenly there was a scream from outside. Three street musicians with guitars in hand clung to one another for support while one yelled and pointed at Harvey through the window. "IT'S CURT WILD!"  
  
The staff member in the back hung up the phone, calling to his friends as they came into the coffee shop, "I told you!"  
  
"You guys are idiots, that's Denis Leary."  
  
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"  
  
"Don't listen to him Curt-! WE LOVE YOU!"  
  
Harvey’s eyes widened and he looked from the stoned musicians outside to the waiter with the phone, and back again, completely floored by the reaction.   
  
"I …" he looked at Bruce questioningly and then shook his head at the waiter, "no, I’m sorry, you've got me mixed up with someone else." His neck flushed from his shirt collar up and he slouched in his chair a little, covering part of his face with one hand.  
  
"Piss off you ass-" The girl with the dreadlocks tossed her wet and dirty rag at the second employee from the back, "Give the man some privacy for fucks sake!"  
  
"CURT! CURT!" One of the musicians from outside pounded the flat of their hand on the window, "Will you sign my guitar!?"  
  
"No!" the girl put her foot down, "No signatures, no requests, no photos- JUST COFFEE! FUCK OFF MIKE" She said, pushing one of her friends back out the door, locking them out and giving them the finger.  
  
Harvey just sat there with his sandy eyebrows raised, blinking and still a little dazed. He seemed to consider them for a moment, and then the girl, and then Bruce with a mischievous expression before he smiled back at the girl.  
  
"Okay. I’ll sign the guitar if you’ll hand it to me."  
  
"Really? You wouldn't mind?" The girl with the dreadlocks asked, keeping a hand on the locked door with her friends outside, pawing at the window and pleading with her to be let in like zombies in want of brains.  
  
Bruce meanwhile folded his hands on top of the table and calmly watched the scene play out.  
  
"No, that’s okay. It’s just a signature," he said, "but I would like a coffee if you don’t mind."  
  
The girl took the guitar from her hysterical friends at the door, and Harvey signed the guitar with an illegible scribble, obviously trying not to laugh as he did so. When he looked back at Bruce he looked a little embarrassed, but fairly good-natured about it all.   
  
"Well," he explained with a spread of his hands, after handing the guitar back, "I imagine it’s like when people ask you to sign their monopoly boards."  He winked.  
  
"Are you alright?" Bruce asked evenly as the girl was busy behind the counter, brewing Harvey a fresh mug of coffee.  
  
Harvey laughed and nodded, self-consciously hiding the left side of his face with one hand, an old habit that he never learned to leave behind.  
  
"Yeah, I’m fine." He leaned across the table, elbows planted on the edge of it, still glowing a little with laughter. "A little confused at first, I …" he turned reflective, "thought that was going to be about something else."  
  
So had Bruce. There had been no doubt that the first day was going be interesting, but not like this. "You handled that very well."  
  
Harvey shrugged, self-depreciating and a little shy. "I think I was just relieved, to be honest." His coffee arrived and he took it with a thank you, waiting until the waitress left before he continued. "It didn't happen today, but I know it will, eventually. When I’m out again. I’ll run into someone who knew me … back then."  
  
"Have you given thought to what you will say? Or how much you want to return to the public eye?"  
  
"Right now, I’m just trying to take it one day at a time but-" Harvey looked out the window, wistfully, at the city he used to protect. "I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting what I wanted all along. It’s in my blood."  
  
With a slight sigh, Bruce asked, "How's the coffee?" Things would be rough for Harvey, it would never be perfect, but it could be good again.  
  
"It’s good," Harvey said, looking down at the cup, his hopeful expression fading. "I know," he said, with a tight swallow, leveling with Bruce. "I know I’ll never get there again, but it doesn't stop me from thinking about it." He looked down at the table top, "I … just wish I’d held on to what I had when I had it."  
  
"So do I." Bruce at least had the opportunity to win Harvey back. But Harvey had a very narrow chance to reclaim his place in the city. Instead, he would have to evolve. Become something new, rather then try and go back and reclaim what was lost.  
  
It took Dent a moment before he realized that Bruce wasn't criticizing him, also wishing that Harvey had been strong enough to keep it together when everything was on his shoulders. No, Bruce meant something else.    
  
He raised his cup of coffee and took a swallow, shoulders sinking as he sighed. "So, are we finally going to talk about that?" He tilted his head, looking at Bruce honestly, and a little sadly.  
  
"I-" It would be the adult thing to do, but Bruce and his feelings had an estranged relationship. "Where would you like to begin."  
  
"Well," Harvey drummed his fingers on the table top. "I’d … like to think-" he chose his words carefully, voice quiet. "That it wouldn't happen again."  
  
"When I left-" Bruce began, but then saw little point in explaining what had gone through his head when he disappeared from the public eye for seven years. "It won't happen again."  
  
The blond lawyer swallowed hard, sitting back in his chair, trying not to get his guard up. They hadn't talked about this since it happened. "How do you know that?"   
  
Life had been going on as normal, comfortably, the two of them nearly inseparable. Harvey was just about finished law school, the school year was nearly over, Bruce went out to get some bread from the store … and never came back.   
  
Of course, that was the day Joe Chill was shot.  
  
"In college, I didn't have direction. Ambition, sure- but do you know how many majors I had, Harv?" He wasn't proud of them, they were useless to _Bruce Wayne_. He swallowed dryly, his eyes slightly distant in memory. "It took a long time, making the right investment" in Batman, "to give me purpose."  
  
"I won't apologize for that path I went down, but I do regret how I left things between us."  
  
"I looked for you," Harvey said, addressing his now empty coffee cup, a little bit of fragile sadness in his averted eyes, "for four years. I don’t mean that I hoped you’d come back, I mean I would get out of bed at night, get dressed and go _looking_ for you."  
  
"I'm sorry Harvey." Bruce stared hard at a spot on Harvey's shoulder. "I wasn't thinking about how my disappearance might effect anyone else."  
  
"You’re right," Harvey said, plainly. "You weren't thinking about how it might affect anyone else. You didn't seem to think about it once during the seven years, two months and thirteen days you were away, either. So what’s to say you won’t stop thinking about how what you do affects ‘other people’ again, Bruce?" Decades later, Harvey could barely control the hurt and confusion in his voice.  
  
"I grew up, some. I have a sense of the bigger picture now." It lacked his usual charismatic answer. It was difficult. If Batman was around, then it meant Bruce would disappear. And if Bruce promised to always be there, then Batman would fade from Gotham's criminal scene.   
  
Harvey stared at his hands, turning them over on the table top as he contemplated the scars on the back of his left hand that never really went away, even after all they’d done surgically.   
  
"I guess we both did." Dent had time to think in prison, a lot of time, and that day had been rattling around in his divided mind more than usual after Bruce had walked back into his life.   
  
The sharp-witted lawyer had his suspicions that Bruce wasn't entirely truthful with him, the way an intelligent, guilty witness on the stand told the technical truth, but left out the meat of the story. The blond haired man looked around, making sure they were alone before he looked at Bruce, very, very seriously.  
  
"You’re asking me to trust you, to put my faith in you, and that’s fine. I can trust you, but you have to give me something to trust besides some vague urge to go find yourself on a mountain top somewhere. This isn't adding up. Why not tell me first? Why not say _goodbye_ to the person who supposedly meant so much to you?" Oddly enough, there was no anger in Harvey’s voice, just the sure tension of a man about to make a point.  
  
"Something happened that morning. If you don’t tell me what it was, I’m going to tell you what I think happened and we can go from there. Alright?"  
  
"I never intended to leave that day." Bruce said at first, "I hadn't made plans." No packed bags, no flight itinerary, not even a bus ticket. In fact, the whole day had been very poorly thought out.  
  
It took a minute longer before he could continue, "My parent's murderer was due in court that day. So I went-"  
  
"A mob associate got to him before me; to silence him from testifying."  
  
Harvey felt his mouth go dry, and ever the lawyer, he mentally made certain that Bruce was in no danger of admitting to an actual crime in public before he continued the conversation.  
  
"You were going to shoot him," Harvey confirmed. In college, Bruce had been brilliant, and popular, the attendee of parties and football games, doing everything he was expected to … and enjoying very little of it.  Under all of that obligation, Harvey had glimpsed anger from time to time, oceans of repressed anger that Harvey only recognized because in so many ways it matched his own darkness.  
  
"So you bought the gun, planned it out …" Harvey’s voice was gentle, and he reached across the table, hand on Bruce’s wrist, "you must have known you’d never get away with it."  
  
"I wasn't thinking that far ahead." Of course he wasn't going to get away with it; not with hundreds of witnesses, among them, lawyers, judges, and the press. But at the time it hadn't been about walking in, killing Joe Chill and walking out again. It had been about bringing an end to _that night_.  
  
Harvey cupped his hand around Bruce’s, warming it with his own. It had gone a little cold as he talked. He didn't care who saw what. After committing murder in front of dozens of witnesses multiple times, holding another man’s hand in public was something Harvey had the spine to do.  
  
"So it went sideways," he murmured, sympathetically. "Why didn't you come home?" _Why didn't you come back to me?_  
  
"After the shooting in court, I spoke to the boss who arranged the kill. When I walked out- I kept walking." And his feet didn't instinctively take him home, but away from Gotham.  
  
"Wait, wait …" Harvey straightened in his chair, "who did you talk to, Falcone?"   
  
Turning his head to the side, Bruce looked at the reflection of his suit in the large window. "Yes."  
  
"What did you talk about?" he asked, squeezing Bruce’s hand, bringing his attention back from where ever he was off to. Harvey had to know what set Bruce off, he had to know what took him away for seven years without so much as a goodbye.  
  
"The city. The sort of people who actually controlled it." After the Wayne's murder, Gotham had changed. The powerful elite, the good families of Gotham became afraid. If the Wayne's could be shot down in the street, then anyone could be. It had made the rich and powerful afraid to do anything with their wealth and power. Giving way instead to criminal families to run things.  
  
"How it wasn't going to change overnight for a spoiled brat who wanted his way."  
  
No, the city wasn't going to change for anyone overnight. Harvey knew the hard way that it took years of blood, sweat and tears … literally.   
  
"And that made you leave everything …" If anyone could understand snapping like that, it was Harvey, after all. He stared at Bruce for a long, long moment, trying to wring a story out of his even, sleek features and pale eyes.  
  
"Will you ever tell me where you went?"  
  
With a finger pressed into his temple, Bruce leaned forward in his chair, elbow on the table. It had been more then that, but again the answer wasn't simple; it was impossible to boil down years of frustrations, fears, thoughts, and experiences into something that would immediately make sense. "I don't know- I rather just move forward."  
  
Moving forward was exactly what Harvey wanted to do. He was tired of living in the past, being tied to mistakes he made when he wasn't himself and living in the same place as the people he hated most and tried to save the city from. Most of all, he wanted to move forward with Bruce, but to do that he had to convince himself that it wasn't going to happen again, that Bruce was ‘safe’ to love.  
  
But Harvey had never wanted safe, not entirely.  
  
He nodded and squeezed Bruce’s hand. "Then," he said, softly, "let’s move forward."

 

*                    *                    *

 

_Three Months Later._

An hour into their walk, Bruce was still leading Harvey away from Arkham. By now the two were usually heading back, giving themselves time to go through security procedures for Harvey to be checked back in. But not today. And whatever reason for it, Bruce gave no hint of it except for giving Harvey a small, knowing smile from time to time.  
  
"You’re up to something," Dent said, bluntly, blue eyes examining that knowing smile with lawyerly shrewdness.  "What is it?"  
  
"Nothing, just walking."  
  
"Turning out to be a nice day." Bruce further commented. Gotham's heavy cloud cover had rolled through earlier that day, allowing breaks of bright sunlight to slip through in patchwork sections throughout the city.  
  
Bruce had that _look_. The look he usually had in his eyes before he did something like bought a waitress a car for a tip and left before the press caught wind of it. It was the look Bruce had when he was sitting on an idea, a little in love with how clever he was at the moment.   
  
It definitely wasn't a bad look on him, Harvey thought, as they walked. But knowing Bruce, this meant a surprise of some sort … and Harvey didn't like surprises. "It’s not bad …" Dent agreed, slipping his restraint-free hands into his pockets as he took a moment to enjoy the weather before trying another tactic. "So how’s business?"  
  
"Flourishing." Bruce said with a sly smile, "Why, looking to invest in stocks?"  
  
Harvey rolled his eyes, scoffing at the billionaire beside him. "In _that_ company?" he teased, "I don’t know if I’d want to gamble my money on a flash in the pan. The guy who owns the place seems a little unstable."  
  
"It's probable." Bruce said easily, accepting Harvey's judgement, even if it was meant as a joke. "I wonder if anyone has looked into it."  
  
"I hear he’s hanging out with crazies down at Arkham, anyway. I’d rather put my money somewhere safer … under a mattress or in a cookie jar, for instance." He nudged Bruce gently with his elbow.

"Sounds reasonable."  
  
"Better that, then worry about someone absconding with all the funds on a private rocket into space." Bruce said dryly, which in certain company meant he was telling the truth, while in others indicated his sarcasm.  
  
"You as an astronaut?" Harvey asked with a genuine laugh. "It’d never happen."  
  
Bruce smirked, "Alright, maybe not me. Perhaps for someone else then."  
  
"I’m just saying you’d never wear that much white." Harvey glanced at Bruce’s customary dark, stylish suit, no doubt hand made.   
  
"Gets dirty too easily." Bruce said with a slight shrug. However white was a color Bruce would always associate with Harvey. The White Knight. That, and he looked good in the color; it complimented his golden blond hair. White on Harvey looked good. Whereas white on Bruce would likely make him look sinister.   
  
"Isn't all of your clothing disposable anyway? Wear something once, throw it out?" Harvey knew very well it wasn't true, at least it wasn't true in college, even if Bruce could afford to do so. He had a very fond memory of a certain black t-shirt that Bruce wore until it was so thin that it was nearly a little see-through. The blond man couldn't resist stealing a quick look at Bruce, imagining all too easily how something like that might look on him now.  
  
Bruce just rolled his eyes at this before switching gears. "Do you need anything while we're out?"  
  
Harvey raised an eyebrow, "Need anything?"  
  
"Pants. Shoes. A tooth brush."  
  
"Bread. A car." Bruce added, pushing his hand into his pocket, fisting the keys that were there.  
  
Harvey stopped walking and tilted his head at Bruce with a skeptical look on his face. "Shoes? Car? Sure, why not? We’ll just put it in my parking space at Arkham, in the patient garage." It was hard, even for him to tell if Bruce was joking or … well, he had to be joking.  
  
"No. You're own things in your own space. You're not going back to Arkham." Bruce said, very self assured.  
  
Dent’s face went blank for a brief moment, and then he stepped back, eyes going stony, voice low. "That’s not funny."  
  
"Harvey. I'm not joking." Bruce said calmly, moving closer when Harvey stepped away. "You're not going back." _Not today. Not ever._   
  
It was almost a full minute before Harvey spoke again, in a very even, controlled voice, his blue eyes a little scared, braced for ... for something. "There’s a procedure for that sort of thing, Bruce. Papers have to be signed, boards have to be met with …"  
  
And yet, if anyone could do it …  
  
"Papers? Oh right, like these?" Bruce pulled an envelope out of his inner suit pocket, offering them to Harvey.  
  
He just stared at the papers for a moment before pulling them from Bruce’s hands slowly, unfolding them and reading them twice over. "This says I was released this morning, at midnight ..."  
  
"Does it? Hm. That means you've been a free man for a few hours now." Bruce watched Harvey as he read over the paperwork with a critical eye, knowing it was all in order.  
  
"And all you had to do was walk out the front door."  
  
Harvey’s free hand balled up into a fist, and for a moment, he looked as though he was going to put it right into Bruce’s face. "Since midnight!?" He exclaimed, incredulous, "and the staff knew? Everyone except me knew, didn't they!?" He shoved the papers into Bruce’s chest, knocking him back a foot or two, fuming.  
  
"Ow." Rubbing the spot just over his sternum, Bruce managed to look a little hurt by Harvey's anger. "Not everyone. Only those involved." Which Bruce had made certain were the minimal required.  
  
Harvey stared at Bruce, still in shock, vacillating between outrage and gratitude as it began to sink in, his torrid blue eyes beginning to soften a little.  
  
"Did you do this?"  
  
Having planned it so that Harvey could leave, unharrassed by other patients, and all mementos of his incarceration left behind, he knew it was better this way. "Yes. I did." Bruce said calmly. "Now, are you ready to go home?"  
  
"I ... don’t really have a home," he laughed lightly, still surprised. "Except for my cell, but that’s not mine anymore, is it?" The wind picked up, catching his gold hair and blowing it across his forehead, into his eyes.  
  
"I thought" Bruce began, reaching up and brushing the tips of Harvey's blond hair out of his eyes, "You could come home with me, for now."  
  
The lawyer's solid blue eyes locked with Bruce’s and a slow, touched smile warmed his face. "You’re going to bring me home with you?" After all he’d done, after all they had done, that Bruce would take him home, no questions asked was proof positive that his dashing, careless friend was more than the way he behaved for the cameras. "What, like I’m something you picked up from the Arkham pound?"  
  
"Except that you come with your own licence." Bruce smirked, but then let it fade as he readdressed the issue. "How do you feel about that?"  
  
Harvey rolled his eyes, but smirked. Both men seemed constantly hell-bent on ruining any sentimental moments between them, and always had been. They walked for a moment longer, Harvey’s hands jammed in his own pockets as he considered the offer. "Only until I get my own place, which won’t be long. I've already been doing some part-time work, legal advice over the internet … I don’t have much, but with more time, I can make a living that way."  
  
Bruce just followed after Harvey, close at his side, "Good."  
  
"So- I'll ask again, do you need anything before we head back? Shoes? Pants ... car?" He offered in his all too dashing smile.  
  
Harvey shook his head, smiling, the edges of his eyes crinkling a little.  "You’re not buying me a damned car, so forget it, Wayne."  
  
"Truck?" When Harvey's tolerant but amused look remained the same, Bruce continued to suggest, "bike? Bus pass?"  
  
"Bus pass?" Harvey laughed, and elbowed Bruce sharply in the ribs, glaring a little. "I’ll manage, thanks. No bus pass necessary, thank you."  
  
Coughing out a laugh, Bruce guarded his rib with his hand from being slammed into again; he had enough of that from the previous night. "Fine-" Several minutes later a car pulled up beside them and began to idle while the driver got out.  
  
"Good evening, Sirs." Alfred said as he opened the side door for both men.  
  
"Alfred …" Harvey smiled, his irritation gone at seeing the gallant, impressive butler. He’d always liked Alfred, from the first time he’d met him when Bruce brought him home while they went to college together, and Harvey had impressed the older man by insisting on doing the dishes after dinner … and forcing Bruce to help.  
  
"If I may comment, Mr. Dent, you are looking quite well." Alfred said, looking between both men before shuffling them into the car.  
  
"As are you, of course. You look just like you did back when we were in school. Thank you." Harvey smiled as he climbed into the car that cost more than all the money he had in his bank account right now. It hadn't always been that way, but at the moment, Harvey could barely afford the car’s hubcaps.   
  
The long-legged blond climbed in and took a seat, remembering the last time that someone opened a car door for him, it had been a cop, and he’d been handcuffed and yelling at them at the time.  
  
Sliding in, Bruce sat next to his friend as Alfred closed the door behind them. Once he was seated in the driver's seat again, he continued their conversation, looking back at the men in the rear-view mirror as if they were still boys. "Dinner will be served at seven and the guest house is prepared for your arrival, Mr. Dent."  
  
Harvey looked down at the floor, blushing out of gratitude. The guest house made it seem much less like he was depending on Bruce and more … as though he were just here on a trip. "That’s wonderful, thanks, Alfred."  He shot Bruce a look, but smiled. "How long have you been planning this?"  
  
"Really?" Bruce smirked a little sadly, glancing out the window as they drove through the city. He had been romancing Harvey in his way, for nearly a year. Each step had been in the plan, even the bad days. All leading up to this, being able to take him home. "You know me- last minute accommodations."  
  
The blond reached over and squeezed Bruce’s hand where it lay on the billionaire’s thigh while he looked out the window at the luxurious, mysterious manor that approached as Alfred drove them closer. "Yeah. Last minute. That’s got you all over it."

**Author's Note:**

> co-authored.


End file.
